


Burning Candles

by huldrejenta



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Birthdays, Community: rs_games, M/M, R/S Games 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 00:02:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12398973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huldrejenta/pseuds/huldrejenta
Summary: Being an adult isn’t anything like Sirius expected it to be, and birthday cakes with a growing number of candles on them is just a reminder that he isn’t on track. He’s not quite certain what to do about it, but sharing his worries with his friends might be a good start.Written for Team Sirius at RS Games 2017.





	Burning Candles

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the wonderful mods for making the RS Games happen this one last time and for keeping it going for an entire decade! Thank you to everyone who's ever participated in this fest throughout the years, and everyone who's read, watched, voted, commented and recced, making RS Games such a glorious and important part of the wolfstar fandom for so many years.♥ I'm going to miss this fest.
> 
> Also, thank you to Team Sirius for being the best team mates, you're all amazing.
> 
> Last, but not least, thank you to the fabulous [Shaggydogstail](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shaggydogstail/pseuds/shaggydogstail) for beta reading!  
> Prompt: This picture -  
> 

The birthday candles have long since been blown out, the first guests are saying their goodbyes to tonight’s host, and Sirius Black would like it to be known that he's not sulking.

To be fair, he can see how hiding in the darkness of Peter’s bedroom might lead people to think that sulking is exactly what he’s doing. He sits gracelessly curled on the floor inside one of Peter’s old wooden cupboards, wiggling his toes in a half-hearted attempt to stop trapped feet from falling asleep. The scent of unused wool and leather boots drifts into his nose as he closes his eyes and leans his head back, listening to the muted racket of laughter and tipsy hollering from the living room.

This is, to be honest, pretty high up on the list of pathetic ways to end a party.

The sound of familiar off-key singing floats from the outside hallway into his little hide-away. It’s James, of course it’s James, and his singing is broken by an abrupt shout of, “Sirius!” For a second Sirius thinks James will continue his merry crooning and return to the party, but apparently he’s not quite drunk enough to forget his actual motivation for traipsing around the house.

“For heaven’s sake, Sirius.” His voice gets closer as he opens the door and pokes his head inside the bedroom. “Everyone is looking for you! Where on earth are you hiding?”

Might as well get the inevitable interrogation over with. “I’m here,” Sirius says, aware of how absurd this might seem. “In the cupboard.”

“In the cup... Yeah, okay. Of course you are.” James slips inside and closes the door behind him before sliding down onto the floor beside the cupboard. “That’s a perfectly reasonable and not at all weird place to spend the last hour of a hilarious birthday party.”

Then he exhales deeply and clears his throat, the way he always does when he gets ready to get down _to business_. James might not be the most tactful guy in the world, but he’s a sweetheart, a silly sweetheart who wants the best for his friends. 

“I’m a bit worried now, Sirius. What are you doing in there? Alone, in the dark? At this point of Peter’s birthday party you’ve usually started planning your own birthday because you’re so excited. Or at least you’re out there with the others, yelling at them to stop being sourpusses if they so much as sit down for more than ten minutes.” 

“I’m just not in a very celebratory mood. That’s not a crime, is it?” God, he hates the whiny tone to his voice.

“Not a crime, no,” James says. He seems slightly more drunk than he generally tends to be, stumbling over his words a bit, but James Potter is not a man who lets a tiny thing like that stop him from offering his wisdom and insight. “It doesn’t seem like you, though. You’re the unofficial champion of hanging in there until dawn at parties, no half-arsery allowed. Especially when it’s a friend’s birthday.” 

“Not much to celebrate anymore, is there? I’m getting old. I’m not about to plan a party for the simple fact that I’m getting even older.”

“You’ll be twenty-five, Sirius. Hardly ancient quite yet. It’s a bit early to be having a midlife crisis, if you ask me.” 

“No, not like...” Sirius sits up straight with an impatient jolt, searching for words to describe what he can’t even explain to himself. “Not like that. I don’t mean _old_ old. I mean _a grown-up who should’ve figured all the grown-up stuff out by now_ old. Or something like that.”

“And you don’t think you have?”

Sirius snorts. “Oh come on. Do you know anyone with their act less together than me? With less direction in life? All I know how to do is talk shit to my parents and plan stupid pranks with my mates from school. Yeah, okay, I’m fun and all, and I’m an opinionated guy who’s not afraid of making a scene. Hurrah, bully for me. Doesn’t mean much now.” 

Now his back is starting to hurt as well, but he’s not ready to come out the surprisingly cramped cupboard just yet. “I mean, look at us! Remus is finishing his studies, you and Evans are practically married, and Peter knows that he’ll eventually be taking over his old man’s store. You’re all well _on your way_. But I... I don’t have a fucking clue!”

Judging by James’ sad little _aah_ , this is the most heartbreaking thing Sirius has said in years. “Where’s all this coming from? I mean, why now?”

Sirius shrugs and suddenly feels like he’s sobered up completely. Not that he’d had that much to begin with.

“I dunno. Things just aren’t the same anymore, are they? School is over, our year of travelling the world is over, the days when it’s okay to take fleeting jobs with no meaning because we’ve got plenty of time to figure out what we really want to do are over. It’s like... I should’ve figured these things out by now.”

His breath hitches uncomfortably, and this is all rather daft, he suspects, but now it all comes tumbling out. “When I stood there earlier tonight watching Peter blow the candles on his cake, all I could think was how the best time of my life is over. I don’t even see you guys anymore.”

“We see each other all the time, Sirius. I would’ve thought you’d welcome the chance not to see my face every single day. Even as pretty as my face is.”

How can James be so calm about this? Doesn’t he realise that they’re at the edge of Adulthood with a capital A and that Sirius isn’t even close to being ready for it?

“No, we _do not_ see each other all the time, thank you very much. And I miss having your dirty socks lying around and seeing your tired face first thing in the morning, and I miss Remus’ snoring and that weird smacking sound that Peter makes in his sleep. But you know, that’s just a part of it. Even worse is how we’re now supposed to _know who we are_ and all that shit and figure out what we want to do with our lives, and, you know, fix being a grown-up!”

Yep, that’s it. That’s the problem right there. And if there’s one thing that Sirius doesn’t need in any way, shape or form it’s all these bloody birthday cakes with more and more candles on them, mocking him with just how far behind schedule he is.

“All I know how to do is to quarrel with my family or, or, you know, to mess about. How do I know what _I_ want? How do I know that I choose stuff because I actually want to and not because it would piss my parents off? Or if it’s what _I_ want and not something that sounds great because you guys are in on it?” Jesus, this has taken a depressive turn. “I’m lost without you guys.”

There’s a moment when Sirius wonders if James is about to get up and leave, but of course he doesn’t. He simply rummages around a bit on the hardwood floor before settling down again. Sirius is well acquainted with how much your arse hurts after a certain amount of time sitting like this. But James sits tight, and Sirius doesn’t need to see him to know that his eyes are now shining with confused sympathy. 

“Sirius,” he says, very gently, “you’re not lost. If this is why you’ve decided to crawl into the darkest cupboard in the Pettigrew residence, let me tell you, you can crawl out again right this second, because you’re going to be just fine.”

“How can you possibly know that?” Sirius squeaks, impatient now, because why doesn’t James see this? “Everything about me, every story people tell about me, is really about how I react to someone else’s actions, whether it’s in opposition to them or as friends. Without that, who am I? School is so bloody easy, because _you know_ , right? Now I know nothing.”

Sirius lets out a laugh that sounds a bit on the frantic side even to his own ears. “Oh no,” he whines, and a part of him knows he should be biting his tongue for sounding so pathetic, but the words keep rolling out of him, like they’ve been piling up in secret until there’s no way for them to go but out in the open. 

“I’m going to become one of those guys, aren’t I? The ones who still think they’re teenagers until they wake up one day to find that life has past them by, clinging to a pipe dream of something I don’t even know what, and none of my friends will have the heart to tell me how pathetic I’ve become. You’ll all be like, ‘Poor Sirius, well I suppose it’s our turn to invite him over for Christmas this year’, and you’ll have to explain to your kids that yes, old Uncle Sirius is a bit strange because he lives by himself with a bunch of cats and he talks to himself a lot, just like his mum used to do, but, ‘Remember kids’, you’ll all say, ‘Be nice to him because he’s a good bloke underneath’ – I can literally see it. Christ, I can see myself turning forty and fifty and sixty, and I’ll still be hanging out at the same bar every night because I won’t know what else to do, and maybe I’m hoping to meet someone, but I’ll probably be home by eight thirty and in bed by ten every time, because they’ll all notice miles away how desperate and hopeless I am. This will be even worse than I thought! And to think that I... James?”

His speech comes to an abrupt stop when he realises there are suspicious sounds coming from outside the cupboard. Sounds that don’t quite match the gentle support from a few moments ago. “James Potter, are you laughing at me?”

“I’m sorry!” James doesn’t sound sorry in the least, the traitor. Quite the contrary, actually, with his tittering and his gasping for air, as if he’s struggled for a while not to laugh out loud. “I’m sympathetic, Sirius, I really am. But this... this is just...” And then he can’t say whatever he was going to when another wave of wheezing laughter drowns his words. Probably just as well.

“For goodness’ sake, James, my whole future is at stake here! Take this seriously, won’t you?”

“Oh, I am, I do. I do take it very seriously.” It would’ve been a bit more convincing if James hadn’t promptly started giggling again.

And then, finally – _finally_ – his laughter starts fading into little snickers and the occasional stifled snort.

What an amazing and not even a little idiotic best friend and confidant to have.

“Okay,” James says after a couple of lengthy inhales, actually sounding calm again. “I’m done laughing.” Calmness accomplished, he’s again ready to be the supportive friend. “Tell me more about your birthday melancholy. I won't laugh, I promise,” and Sirius believes him.

“Birthdays have always meant one step ahead, to bigger things. It’s like one birthday candle extra for each birthday has meant one extra opportunity and adventure to seek out. But now, the number of candles on your cake isn’t about that anymore. Now they symbolise how many things in your life you should’ve had a grip on by now. And the candles are taunting me with everything I haven’t figured out yet.”

“If that’s the case,” James says, in a tone which suggests he still doesn’t quite grasp the severity of the situation, “things will be _really_ bad, then, when we’re turning eighty. What a buttload of stuff we must’ve accomplished by then.”

“No, no, no,” Sirius says, impatient now rather than sulky. “Eventually no-one can be bothered to have one candle for each year, can they? They use one candle for each decade or something. It’s _now_ that the candles are mocking me.”

“But in a birthday party,” James says, “once the candles are blown and the cake is eaten, there’s still plenty of party left. Maybe that’s true about life as well? You think the best part is over, but really, life has just begun.”

Sirius sighs, shifting to find a better position, but this cupboard is so bloody cramped he’s forced to give up. Maybe it’s time to join James outside. “I suppose you may be right,” he says as he slowly wriggles his way out of the cupboard. But his heart isn't really in it.

And then, just as Sirius is on all fours with his head peeking out through winter coats and long scarves, Peter opens the bedroom door and saunters inside, carrying a large cocktail in one hand. Probably one of his infamous, self-invented ones. If he’s surprised to find James on his bedroom floor and Sirius crawling out of his cupboard, he doesn’t show it.

“Want something to drink, guys?” he asks, gesturing with his glass until it almost sloshes over. “I’m particularly proud of the latest batch of cocktails I’ve made for tonight, with lots of berries and shit. Very in-theme for late summer parties like this one.” He takes a sip. “They’re reportedly also great for curing bad moods,” he adds, raising questioning eye-brows at his friends.

Immediately, Sirius feels terrible. It’s Peter’s goddamned birthday, and he’s such an easygoing bloke, so happy that his friends are celebrating with him. And here Sirius is making Peter’s night about _him_ , all self-absorbed and whiny and not at all what Peter deserves. 

“I’m sure your new cocktails are all the peak of great taste,” Sirius says as he sits down beside James on the floor, quite happy about how he manages to smother any hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Thanks, Pete. We’ll be out soon.”

“Oookay,” Peter says as he sweeps back into the hallway and towards the living room again where the party seems to have died out, more or less. He hums and then yells something like, “Search is over, Remus! I found them!”

And since there’s really not all that much left to say in the bedroom darkness that they haven’t already said, and he has a rather intense desire not to worry Peter and Remus any more than he already has, Sirius stretches his limbs and tries to summon the willpower to get up. 

But James isn’t quite finished. 

“We’ll join them soon,” he says, clasping one hand on Sirius' shoulder. “But you should know that I think we all have these thoughts every now and then. Doesn’t really matter if we know what we want to do for a living or who we want to spend our lives with, these thoughts can still pop up.”

Sirius disagrees. He feels fairly certain that it _does_ matter, but he keeps that thought to himself.

“And if it’s one thing I’m certain of,” James says, in an unusually solemn voice, “it’s that there won’t be any ‘Poor Uncle Sirius’ stories for Lily and me to tell our kids at Christmas. You’re one of those people who’ll always find a way. And I mean that. It’s simply a part of who you are, even if you can’t see it now. Hell, you’re the one person I’d take to war with me, because I’d always trust you to find your way out of the darkest situation if you had to.”

James looks at him with a world of fondness; Sirius doesn’t need much light to see that. And it does help, it really does, even if only a little and even if only right now.

Then the moment passes as moments are wont to do, and they both get up and walk outside, into the Pettigrew’s tiny garden full of overgrown grass and flowers with drooping stems and late summer damp air. Remus and Peter are already there, on the patio, laughing about something Peter said. It’s a beautiful night, Sirius bets the sky is full of stars they could admire if they weren’t surrounded by too much light to see them. He’s with friends that he loves. Friends he has no doubt wishes him all the joy in the world.

And he takes a shaky breath, wondering why it still doesn’t quite feel like enough.

: : :

In the blessed clarity of hindsight, Sirius is willing to admit that he possibly went a bit overboard on the dramatic front at Peter’s party. Hiding in a cupboard to brood over his life and whine because he’s not where he thought he was going to be when the big _twenty five_ lurks just around the corner, might seem a bit excessive. It’s not as if he’s particularly afraid of old age just yet.

Still, the point remains. 

Birthdays _have_ always meant new opportunities to him, whether it’s been opportunities to oppose and keep learning what _not_ to be, or opportunities to play and grow and explore. Always safe in the knowledge that yet another building brick had been added to his path towards adulthood.

Growing up, Sirius used to have a vivid image of what said adulthood would be like. They were all going to live close together, him and James and Remus and Peter, and Lily as time went on; that part wasn’t even a conscious thought, it remained in the background as an absolute given. And then they were going to spend their days doing everything that young and enthusiastic city dwellers were supposed to be doing: meeting up multiple nights a week for a pint of beer inside cobbled-street pubs, going out for Sunday brunch while solving world problems and discussing films and music and literature with witty remarks and droll comments, trying rooftop clambering or edgewalking or something equally out there that he’s seen on Discovery Channel, taking silly selfies while preparing for silly pranks – all the while finishing fulfilling and interesting studies leading to fulfilling and interesting jobs.

That’s what it was supposed to be like. That’s what blowing the candles on a cake with yet another one added to it used to symbolise.

These days it’s really about realising how adulthood isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. He thinks about the images he used to have of his mid-twenties life and he shakes his head to himself at how clueless he was. He actually says it out loud a few times: “You really didn’t have a clue back then, Sirius,” he says and usually goes to put the kettle on, because at least there’s always tea to be had. 

The thing is, they hardly ever see each other anymore, despite what James says, not like they used to, and not like Sirius wants them to. And when they do see each other, it’s all great and fun and everything; Remus is still amazing and James still makes him laugh and Peter still tells his weird stories, and it should be the same as it used to be, except that it’s not. Now, James complains about his narrow-minded co-workers at the newspaper’s sports division and Peter talks about his plans for taking over his parents’ hardware store. Lily is up in arms over problems at the legal office and Remus is stressing over his history exams coming up and is rarely seen without his books these days. All of it is people and problems and issues that Sirius knows little of. A big part of their lives that he no longer is a part of. They all have a sense of purpose and direction, whether it’s aiming for a PhD or working in the newspaper or looking for a cottage suitable for future kids and dogs and Volvos. They’re all _on track_.

All Sirius feels these days is lost.

Right now he’s quite literally lost, and running more than a little late for his appointment. As has been his habit since the two of them started to meet up, Uncle Alphard has suggested a place in one of the more dubious-looking corners of the city. This time it seems he’s outdone himself, because there’s actually nothing here. No signs or anything.

Sirius pulls out his phone to check the address Uncle Alphard texted him, and yes, he’s at the right place. But all he sees as a hazy dusk is about to fall over the city is non-descript brick walls and a heavy, dark door, quiet pavements and autumn’s first few fallen leaves. The building is old and low with shuttered windows and moss on the roof, leading his thoughts to the Lupin cottage he used to visit during summer holidays years ago, though with considerably less charm. Sirius jumps a little when the door opens and a familiar face peeks out at him.

“Look at that, if it isn’t Sirius,” Uncle Alphard says, as if it wasn’t he who asked Sirius to come here. He pulls Sirius in for one of his crushing hugs and practically drags him inside. Once Sirius has blinked a few times and his eyes have adjusted to the semi-darkness, he realises they’re in what looks like an old pub. Or what used to be an old pub. A very long time ago. 

“Perfect, isn’t it?” Uncle Alphard smiles and looks expectantly up at Sirius, waving his hand around the sunless room in a bafflingly happy gesture. For some reason he’s so excited that Sirius doesn’t have the heart to comment on the mouldy smell or the damp beneath the barred windows.

“Perfect for what?” he asks instead, eying the slated floor and the thick layer of dust covering the bar counter and the rickety tables scattered around the room. 

“For my pub, of course,” says Uncle Alphard with a frown, sitting down by one of the tables. “Pay attention, lad.”

“You’re opening a pub. Here. In the middle of this forsaken area of the city.” Sirius wonders why he’s surprised. 

“Yes, of course here. I just bought the building. Got it practically for free, a real bargain it was. No need to splash out on one of those expensive uptown buildings, even as much fun as splashing out can be. No, no, this is perfect. Everything is already here, it just needs a bit of cleaning and freshening up and it’ll be as good as new.”

In the face of Uncle Alphard’s straightforward eagerness, Sirius avoids pointing out that there might be good reasons why this place was so cheap. “Since when have you wanted to run your own pub?” he asks instead, taking off his coat despite the chill of the room and hangs it over a nearby chair before slouching down besides Uncle Alphard. There’s something strangely homey about the wooden furniture, long since neglected though it seems to be, and Sirius feels a spike of excitement despite himself.

“Oh, since forever, really,” Uncle Alphard says cheerfully, as if that’s something the entire family has known and talked about for years. “I’ve simply been too busy to do something about it until now. I’ve just sold off some businesses so I needed a new project. And here it is!” 

Sirius still hasn’t got quite used to how Uncle Alphard talks so casually about all his ventures. He’s always filled with the sense that while it seems like his uncle does nothing but being slightly rude and hanging around in shady restaurants, he can actually achieve anything, can succeed with anything. Which is the only reason Sirius doesn’t dismiss the idea of this gloomy place becoming a flourishing pub right off the bat.

“So what now, then?” he says, shoving cold fingers into his jeans pockets. Autumn has definitely arrived, and it’s not all that much warmer inside, really. “What do you know about running a pub?”

Uncle Alphard leans forward, eyes shining in the dusty lights from the couple of lamps that seem to be in working order. “Obviously we should hire someone to do the clean-up and the repairs and reconstructions for us. And probably the decorating as well. I’ve got some ideas, of course, but I hardly believe anyone of us has much talent when it comes to the practical execution bit.”

He digs in the pocket of the jacket he’s still wearing, coming up with what looks like plans and drawings and puts them on the table in front of Sirius. “But I know just the right people for this job, so there’s nothing we need to worry about, really.”

Sirius narrows his eyes. “So just to get one thing straight. Why are you saying ‘we’ all of a sudden?”

Uncle Alphard laughs, and he does it with his entire body, black beard moving with him. His expression is that of a kid who’s waited for ages to give away a special present. “Because I was thinking you could join me!”

It’s a good thing Sirius is already sitting, otherwise he probably would’ve fallen straight onto his arse, and though it’s a good arse if he does say so himself, it would still hurt like hell.

“Say again?” he says once he’s able to move his mouth enough to talk.

Uncle Alphard is very pleased with himself if his brilliant smile is anything to go by. “I said, I’d love for the two of us to run this pub together.” 

Yup, that’s what Sirius thought he’d said, but it doesn’t make much more sense the second time. “Why on earth would you think that’s a good idea?”

“Well,” says Uncle Alphard, sitting back in his chair with a thoughtful air about him. “I need a partner in this. There’s no fun doing something like this alone. And who better to join me than my fellow outcast from the Black family?” He looks inordinately pleased at that last statement. “I mean, I’ll take care of the boring business side of it if you’re worried about that. I’d love to work with you, lad. I honestly think we can make this pub into something great. Besides...” 

For the first time this evening he hesitates, just a little. “You’ve been looking a bit under the weather lately, if you don’t mind me saying so. A project like this could be just what you need.”

Oh good. Great. That’s just wonderful. Apparently Sirius has been so bloody whiny and feeling so sorry for himself lately that his uncle has seen fit to buy a goddamned pub to cheer him up. That’s terribly weird, just a tad humiliating, and oddly endearing all at the same time.

The thing is, though, as the thought settles a little, he’s actually warming up to the idea of doing this with Uncle Alphard. Sirius has never been one to turn down a challenge, and who knows, it could be rather fun. 

Even if it all came about in a strange way. But he supposes that’s true for a lot of things in life.

“I don’t know the first thing about running pubs,” he says. “What would I even be doing?”

“You can learn. We both can.” Obviously it hasn’t got passed uncle Alphard that Sirius has picked up the plan drawings, and he nods his approval. “There’s also the added bonus,” he says, leaning forward, “that your parents would hate it with a passion if you worked as a bartender. Should be enough to win you over right there.”

Ah. Back to that little snag again. Funny how everything seems to go there these days. “Yes, but...” Sirius puts the drawings back onto the table, searching for the right words. “I just feel like, my entire life I’ve been making decisions as a reaction to how other people would feel about it.” He’s probably not making a lot of sense, but he plunders through. 

“Before school, and when I went back during holidays, so many of my choices were about doing things my parents would _not_ have me doing. Things that would frustrate them and infuriate them. And when I was at school it was all about keeping my friends together and happy and safe, and doing stuff together because it was the right thing for the group to be doing. Which is a lot better and a more healthy approach of course, I’ll give you that. But it’s still acting based on how other people will react. And I don’t want to make decisions anymore because my parents would be mad. I want to do stuff because _I_ want to do them. If only I knew what that is.”

Uncle Alphard doesn’t say anything for a few moments, and Sirius is just starting to feel a bit silly when his uncle sits back again and looks at him. “We all need people, Sirius. We all make decisions and decide our actions as we’re affected by people around us. That’s not a bad thing.”

“It is if I end up not knowing who I am! If I always need to look to those around me for clues! All my friends, they... Have goals, and they’re on their ways, and they know what they want to do with their lives. I don’t. I have no idea.”

Uncle Alphard starts taking his jacket off, in a patient and measured manner, while humming under his breath. It’s finally getting a bit warmer in here. “You sit tight now, Sirius,” he says, hanging his jacket over the back of his chair and stands up. “I’ll get us something to drink. Back in a jiffy.”

He disappears behind the bar counter and comes back with two bottles of cider he must’ve put there before Sirius got here, judging by their lack of dust. Only when he’s opened the bottles does he sit down again as he hands one over to Sirius.

“Cheers,” he says, and they both take a few sips. It tastes sweet and fresh and _golden_ in a way, making Sirius picture this place full of chatting and laughing people, a fire in the hearth, maybe a live band playing in the corner, and he has to admit, he kind of likes it.

Uncle Alphard neatly finishes his cider, puts the bottle down and wipes non-existent spill on his trousers before clearing his throat. “I’m fairly certain your friends struggle more than you seem to think, Sirius. Everyone does. I think...” He tilts his head back as if the ceiling has suggestions on how to best reply. “I think you need to understand that it’s not about finding that one, true path to fulfilment and happiness. There are many ways to live our lives, and what works at one stage of life might be all wrong in another. Sometimes it takes a while to figure this stuff out.” He looks at Sirius again, smiling. “And that’s okay. You’ve got time.”

“Well, I’ve got less and less of it every single time I blow those stupid birthday candles, haven’t I?” Sirius stops talking abruptly, feeling foolish at his own whining. He knows Uncle Alphard does have a point, rather a good one too, but unwelcome thoughts don’t tend to go away simply because Sirius wants them to.

“The point is,” says Uncle Alphard primly, “you don’t have to be convinced that running a pub is what you want to be doing for the rest of your life. And let’s just forget your parents and how they’d feel about it, right? All you need to ask yourself is this: Does the idea of working in a pub appeal to you? For now?”

And yes, Sirius supposes that it does, rather a bit really, and he says so, out loud. 

“Splendid!” Uncle Alphard beams at him, looking every bit the proud parent Sirius has never had, and that, apparently, is that. It’s settled. Sirius smiles back, a little overwhelmed, but feeling more excited than he has in a while. 

“I know what we should call this place,” he says, nodding to himself as much as his uncle. “We’ll call it _The Burning Candles_ and it can be a place to come and enjoy yourself even as the number of candles on your birthday cake becomes steadily higher and you’re still as clueless as ever.”

“Hear, hear,” Uncle Alphard says, clapping Sirius on his shoulder. “I suppose we’re in business together, then, lad. And a pub is as good a place as any to figure out life, I reckon. Any questions?”

“Just one, really, for now,” Sirius says. “When we do we start?”

: : :

Sirius had been eight when he decided that whatever his parents thought about something, he’d think the opposite. He was eleven when he realised that his unwillingness to embrace their ideas had come from more than a child’s urge to contradict his strict parents. He did indeed despise their views on pretty much everything. Watching his father’s already distant gaze fall even farther when he didn’t want to get involved in discussions or interacting with his son, or hearing his mother trade in her usual dour rants with piercing shrieks whenever Sirius did something he wasn’t allowed to do, was simply an added bonus. Or so he would tell himself as he tried to curb the numbing cold seeping from stone walls as well as from his parents by curling next to Regulus on his old four-poster, borrowing warmth and strength from each other, before Kreacher would discover them and send Regulus back to his own room.

He couldn’t wait to get older when he was growing up, he couldn’t wait for the possibility to make a new life for himself, a life that he’d choose on his own. And one thing he knew for sure was that he’d always cherish celebrating his birthday, the proper way a birthday deserves to be celebrated. Gloomy stories about shady relatives would _not_ be a part of that.

Because for as long as Sirius can remember, there’s been told many stories in his family, stories about their proud ancestors, and, with even more fervour, stories about the bad seeds. And nobody knew as many stories as Sirius’ mother. Walburga Black was never as inspired as when she had the opportunity to talk about gruesome scandals at dinner parties held at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, to an enthralled audience.

“Can you _believe_ what Alphard has done now,” she’d say with impressive contempt while the main course was being served, and Cygnus and Druella and the other handpicked guests shook their heads in shocked disbelief. 

By the time Regulus’ ninth birthday came around, Walburga had made stories about Uncle Alphard into an art-form. Her sons’ birthday parties were in her eyes a splendid opportunity to tell her stories, so that Regulus and Sirius, and Andromeda and Bellatrix and Narcissa, and all the other little guests, could learn by the power of horrid example what dire fates awaited those who didn’t live according to the Black family’s values. 

So instead of cake with birthday candles, balloons or festive music, kids’ birthday parties at Grimmauld Place consisted of sad stories designed to frighten and dishearten.

Walburga didn’t think about, or had not yet discovered, that there might be someone in the audience with a growing distaste for the Black values. Being used as an example of the opposite could in fact seem alluring. 

And while Sirius might be unsure of many things in this new, grown-up world, one thing he never doubted when he came of age was that he’d get to know Uncle Alphard. It’s a decision neither of them has ever regretted.

In addition to being their family’s disappointment, it turns out that both of them are quick about getting things done once they’ve decided on something. By the time of Sirius’ birthday, the pub has transformed from a ramshackle, decaying shadow of its supposedly former glory and into inviting, wooden-clad rooms with orange glow from the hearth and as little electric light as possible, a carved, robust wooden bar counter with bar stools in a row, and round tables neatly placed in the room, complete with comfy chairs. 

_The Burning Candles_ isn’t quite ready for the grand opening just yet, but it’s getting there, with barrels and bottles and plates for the shepherd’s pie they’re going to serve deftly stacked up in the backroom. There’s a warm scent of firewood and whiskey and stout floating into the air, and it’s only minutes before Sirius’ guests will arrive. He was a bit sceptic at the idea, but in the end decided to throw a birthday party here, with his friends, before the pub is properly opened.

The low sun is setting behind dark rooftops when Peter jogs in from the November evening, into the welcoming pub, armed with tweed jacket and leather gloves that he puts behind the bar, just besides where Sirius is arranging glasses and wine bottles.

“Am I the first to show up?” he says, slouching down into one of the armchairs by the fire, the one with only slightly sickening seventies aesthetics that Sirius fell in love with and insisted they’d buy. 

“Yup.” Sirius leans on his palms and tilts his head to look at Peter. “The very first of the lot. You can help me opening the wine, you know, instead of sitting over there.”

“Hey, I thought I was supposed to be a guest,” Peter says, but he cheerfully gets up and walks towards Sirius. “So, are you going for full party mode tonight? The big Twenty Five deserves a proper celebration, if you ask me.”

Sirius shrugs and passes Peter a corkscrew. “James insisted it would be good for me. I dunno. Maybe he’s right. I know I might’ve been a bit of on the grouchy side lately, when I haven’t been working my arse off to get this place ready.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, though he doesn’t sound annoyed in the least. “You have, a bit.”

Sirius snorts into his palms, shaking his head. “You don’t have to agree with me quite so enthusiastically, you know. It’s my goddamned birthday, the least you could do is being nice to me.”

“I’m just being honest,” Peter says, “and you know as well as I do that you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t be nice about it.”

“I’m always nice!” Peter chirps, and Sirius can’t really argue with that. “Happy birthday, old friend.” He leans forward to sling short arms around Sirius, grinning. “You don’t look a day over thirty!”

Sirius rolls his eyes, not certain if it’s at Peter or himself. “I _knew_ this haircut would make me look old,” he mumbles, trying to pass it off as a joke, but he can hear how ridiculous he sounds, so he wisely shuts his mouth.

They open a few more bottles of wine and set them to breathe before Sirius decides they’ve got enough for now. After all, he doesn’t expect that many guests. Peter pours himself a glass of red and tells a story about one of his more difficult customers in the hardware store, and Sirius thinks they’ve well and truly moved on from the subject of his weird moods lately, when Peter blurts, “Why have you been feeling low lately, then?”

“I just...” Sirius is caught off guard and he can feel a frown forming as he searches for words. “I don’t really know who I’m supposed to be, if you know what I mean.” Okay, that’s not what he’d meant to say. But talking to Peter about this feels a bit strange. It’s usually James who gets the honour of listening to Sirius blabber on about... well, basically everything.

Peter pours himself more wine and looks for all the world like someone who does _not_ know what Sirius means. He looks up at him, confusion yet interest in his eyes, and Sirius decides he might as well elaborate a little.

“It’s easy to know who you are when you’re fighting something. It’s easy to fight _for_ something. In a way I think I’ve lost that. And yes, I know there’s plenty of stuff to fight for out there, but what’s _my_ cause? I almost miss having a proper enemy, one that demands that you put all you have and all you are into the fight. A proper fight for the good against evil.” Sirius stops talking, idly running a hand through his hair and looking around for a wine glass for himself. 

But Peter stills his hand right where it is after having taken a sip, midair, and all his warm interest has faded into something a lot more aloof. “Don’t,” he says. “Don’t say stuff like that, Sirius. Living in a warzone is nothing to wish for.”

“I’m not really talking about a war, now, am I?”

“Well, what you’re describing comes pretty damned close. And I have a feeling the first excitement of fighting evil would dwindle fairly quickly.”

“At least I know who I am and what my purpose is when I’m fighting,” Sirius says, knowing that’s actually a part of the problem. He’s a bit unnerved by Peter’s reaction too, and he leans back, arms crossed.

Peter puts his glass down, at last, and he shakes his head. “Maybe you would know. Maybe you wouldn’t. Because if that’s all there is, if all you live for is the fight... You can lose yourself, too. Keep giving until there’s nothing left. Or you end up so tired and scared that you give up and give in to what you’re supposed to be fighting.”

They both stay quiet for a minute. There are muffled sounds coming from outside, a dog barking and the rusty honking of a car. And then Sirius says, “Who knew you had such talents for this kind of deep thinking, Pete?”

Apparently it’s just the right thing to say to lighten the mood and put a smile back on Peter’s face. “Don’t tell the others,” Peter says. “I’ve kept my profoundness a secret all along, and I do after all have a reputation to think of.”

Sirius wonders, though, a little bit, where this came from, if it’s more to Peter that he’s always left unsaid, or if this was his kneejerk reaction to the topic of war. They all have thoughts they rarely share, Sirius supposes. A shiver runs through him and he’s suddenly grateful that he won’t be in a war with Peter or any other of his friends.

Before he gets to ponder the meaning of life and war any further, the door opens, letting in cold air and warm laughter.

“There’s the birthday boy!” James hollers as he gets inside, just as Remus and Lily starts a chorus of “Happy birthday to you”, stunningly out of tune. Sirius is relieved to feel a stab of excitement about tonight, twenty-fifth birthday party or not.

And soon they all flow into the pub, all of Sirius’ friends and a few he hardly knows, but he can’t find it him to be too bothered. Frank plays his guitar and Alice plays her drums on the not-quite finished little stage in the corner, Dorcas outdoes even Fabian and Gideon on the make-do dance floor, while Marlene and Caradoc cause a minor commotion when their balancing act along the bar ends with the two of them crashing spectacularly onto the floor. 

Sirius is pleasantly tipsy and dances and talks to his guests, and the urge to find a cupboard to crawl into is kept at a bare minimum. It only kinda flares up when Benjy carries out the cake and they all gather round to watch Sirius blow the candles. It’s stupid, he knows it is, but somehow he can’t bring himself to do it.

But then Remus comes forward, delightful Remus, looking even more delightful than usual in his shirt and dark jeans. He throws Sirius a look of fondness mixed with exasperation, and he says, “I’ll blow the candles for you,” and so he does, all twenty-five of them. 

The guests – his friends – all cheer and laugh before getting a piece of cake or launching themselves back onto the dance floor. And for a while there, it almost feels as if everything is okay.

: : :

Autumn moves on, leaving room for winter to slide in with its frosty nights and sludgy pavements. 

Christmas comes and goes, and though Sirius feels a tad out of place at the Potters’ house on Christmas Day, there are definitely no sob stories about poor Uncle Sirius to be told.

And then _The Burning Candles_ has its grand opening. Surprisingly, it doesn’t go too badly. At first, Sirius suspects, it’s mostly Uncle Alphard’s wide circle of friends who keep the pub busy, but as the weeks roll by, other guests seem to have picked up on this new addition to what the city has to offer. Though what magic trick Uncle Alphard has done to make that happen in this quiet area, Sirius will never know. 

To his surprise, Sirius likes working here. He likes the chatter and he likes keeping his customers happy. There’s something immensely satisfying about the mix of routine and always new tasks, and by the time January reaches its end with the first onset of snow, he’s grown into this new role in a way he’d never have predicted.

He likes this life for now. And he really likes the slow realisation that not everything has to be figured out all at once.

On the day before her birthday, Lily is sitting on the top of the bar, crossing off items on her checklist as she finds everything to be in order. The pub is closed today, but he’s let her in to go over everything for tomorrow.

“Sirius, I’m impressed,” she says after finishing her list with a satisfied nod. “I wasn’t sure you had it in you, really, what with all the work with the pub and, you know, your misgivings about where your life is headed and all.”

“You need to work on your diplomacy,” Sirius says, wondering if he should feel annoyed by the lack of faith in his party-fixing abilities, but in the end he finds he can’t be bothered. Lily is right, after all.

“What can I get you then?” he asks instead, deciding the two of them might as well share something to drink now that the preparations for Lily’s birthday party have been well and truly approved. “Bearing in mind that Uncle Alphard has ordered a new batch of cask ale that he raves about, I highly recommend trying it.”

Lily sets aside her notes, jumps off the counter and grabs a stool, grinning. “Ale sounds marvellous, thank you.”

Sirius pulls her a pint and then one for himself. He’s starting to get the hang of it now, the movements automatic in his hands. Strange, really, how satisfying it is to watch the froth at the top of the glass and how none of it spills onto his fingers. “Here you go,” he says, sliding the glass towards her.

“This is wonderful,” Lily says after a few sips, and Sirius beams, inordinately pleased. 

Lily beams back. “Serve this tomorrow at my party and you’ll have everyone trying to kiss you in gratitude.”

She wiggles her eyebrows in an exaggerated manner and Sirius winks, only it’s not as heartfelt as it could’ve been. “That’s what they all want to do anyway,” he says, rather lamely. 

The look in Lily’s eyes makes him uncomfortably suspicious of where this is going. He really should’ve learned by now that trying to laugh a topic off does nothing to dissuade her when she’s got something on her mind.

“Looks like you’re growing into this,” she says, waving around at the pub, and he nods. 

“It’s a lot of work, but a great project to keep me occupied while you and James go flat-hunting,” he jokes.

“Well, it suits you. You’ve always been fabulous at talking to people, making them laugh or feeling better about themselves. I’m certain everyone who comes here ends up half in love with you.”

She leans over to put her hand lightly over his. “I’m so proud that you’ve been trying to change your situation when you felt a bit down. And I just thought...”

“Yeeees?” 

Her face sharpens into something firm and resolute, and she clears her throat. “You know when I invited you guys to my party...”

“...mhm?”

“...and how we’ve closed the pub off tomorrow so that it’s a private party and I know everyone who’s coming...”

“...yes?”

“...and how the invitations are of the ‘plus one’ variety?”

And there you have it. “No, no, no. Oh no, Lily Evans, no, you didn’t!” But of course she did, how could he ever think that she wouldn’t?

“I didn’t do anything. Really. Not much, anyway.” She grins at him, looking so smug, oh but she’s lucky that he likes her so much. “There’s just this guy I know that I think would be _perfect_ for you.”

“Lilyyyy,” Sirius whines. “I’m one hundred percent not fucking with you when I say I have absolutely no need for anyone playing match-maker for me. Honestly, Lily, c’mon.”

“Yeah, because you’re doing _so_ well organising your own love life.” Lily lifts her hand off his and takes another sip of her ale.

“Hey, I date plenty!” Lily narrows her eyes at him, and he splutters. “I do! There was that time with the.... and then there was...”

This isn’t going very well. “Okay, fine. I don’t date. So what? Doesn’t mean you get to set me up with some random dude for a blind date tomorrow!”

Sirius manages to keep his voice from rising, but just barely. The thing is, he knows his own reflection in the mirror well enough to know that he doesn’t need to go home by himself after a night on the town if he doesn’t want to. The problem is that it’s never the right person.

“No!” She puts her pint down, almost making it sloshing over. “I’m not setting you up with just some _random dude_. What on earth do you take me for?”

“Well then, what makes you think I’m even interested in dating anyone?”

“Wasn’t it you who sat here, not two minutes ago, saying how you feel left behind now that James and I are living together?”

That’s not what he said at all now, was it, but he knows as well as Lily does that it’s pretty much what he meant, if one has to break it down into embarrassing detail, so he keeps his mouth shut.

“I only want to see you happy, Sirius. We all do.” She rests her chin in her hand and blinks, suddenly serious. “And of course one can be happy without dating. I’m just not certain if you really are.”

Sirius shrinks back into his chair and instantly feels a bit silly for making such a big deal about this. He knows that Lily means well. And the worst part is that she’s not wrong.

“What should he be like then?” Lily asks, obviously sensing his shift in mood. “Your dream guy?”

Sirius thinks about it. A stream of adjectives comes to mind, but they flow by too quickly to really catch them. So he shrugs and goes with the first that comes to mind.

“I suppose he’s funny. And he’s got a big heart.” At that, an image of Remus springs to life in his head, and the words come more easily. “He wakes up almost every morning with a smile on his face, because he’s just that type of person. He’s brave, but not in a reckless way, not like me and James. He’s full of golden colours and he’s usually too polite to really show off his sarcastic side, but I know it’s there.” Sirius smiles, more to himself than to Lily. “When he makes tea, he always sings, even though he really doesn’t know how to.”

And then he curls his fist and bites his lip, wondering if he's said too much. Because that description fits alarmingly well to one Remus Lupin.

“I knew it!” Lily’s eyes sparkle as she lifts her hands up in joy, really jumping to conclusions here. “I knew you had a thing for Remus!” And of course she jumps to the right conclusion.

Maybe he’ll regret it later, but right now Sirius is too confused to bother denying it. “But if you knew, then why would you set me up with someone?”

Lily looks at him with gentle patience. “Oh Sirius. It’s Remus I was talking about, silly. I’d never be so cruel as to set you up with anyone else.”

Hang on now for a second. “You’ve been talking to him about this?”

“Well, no. Not exactly. I might’ve mentioned that my birthday party could be a good place to meet someone, that’s all I said. Really! Except the part where I might’ve mentioned you specifically.”

Oh that’s just fabulous. He probably should say something now, something slightly more articulate than the stifled sounds he’s currently making, but nothing happens.

“Why haven’t you guys got together ages ago?” Lily asks, and his eyes widen. “Oh Sirius, my friend. No need to be shy about it now, I’ve seen the way you’ve always looked at him. And I feel pretty certain that he wouldn’t exactly have turned you down either.”

As much as a part of Sirius would love to hear Lily elaborate on that last part, he wonders how to reply. Because of course Lily is right. He’s been attracted to Remus for about as long as he’s been attracted to anyone like that, and she might very well be right about Remus being attracted to him as well. Sirius has been wondering a few times.

So why then? Why haven’t they done anything about it?

“I think that I...” It’s not easy to pull the right words out of his rather vague thoughts, but he wants to try now. It’ll probably be healthy for him or some shit now that he’s supposed to be doing the grownup-thing. “I think I’ve worried about needing another person like that. It’s different with James, and with you guys, and with Remus as a friend, because it feels more vulnerable, in a way, if it becomes _romantic_ and everything. Maybe I’ve been afraid of breaking up the group if Remus and I got together and then broke up. And I have, evidently, been making far too many decisions based on what I think is best for the group and not my own wishes.”

He sighs. Lily doesn’t say much, but there’s a world of sympathy in her eyes, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’s starting to learn how to figure out what’s right for _him_. It might take him a while, but he’s getting there.

And when Lily’s birthday party kicks off the next evening, and the pub is full of friendly faces, and he keeps Remus’ gaze just that second longer than he otherwise would’ve, he thinks there’s a chance that maybe things actually will work out somehow.

Lily blows the candles on the cake, and Sirius cheers and laughs with the others, feeling a stab of melancholy, absolutely, but maybe that’s all right. He doesn’t, after all, have to figure it all out at once.

: : :

March comes around, and with it comes rainy mornings and soft sunlight, eager to kick spring off for real. Sirius is busy at the pub, and now that Uncle Alphard has hired a couple more people and there’s the occasional night off for Sirius, he finds himself enjoying it even more.

It’s an unseasonably warm night when James and Remus celebrate their birthdays, naturally at _The Burning Candles_ , which already feels like a longstanding tradition. The two of them don’t usually celebrate together, but since it’s their twenty-fifth, they might as well join forces to arrange the birthday party of all birthday parties, they’d said. And Sirius doesn’t dissuade them.

The pub has never been as packed as it is tonight, but so far it seems the atmosphere is all merry and good-natured, even when the occasional guest has had just a little too much to drink. James had insisted on hiring a DJ, the dance floor is packed and it all seems to be going rather splendidly when Sirius is heading for the backroom in search of more paper napkins, sporting a Guinness in one hand and tapping the beat of the music with the other. 

“Ouch!” he says in the semi-darkness as he hits his elbow into one of the shelves and just barely avoids spilling Guinness all over.

“Are you okay?” It’s Remus, all kind concern evident in his voice as he steps into the backroom, and Sirius nods.

“Just one of those things that hurts like hell for a second and then passes,” he says, putting his Guinness down on the shelf. “Have you come to help me search for napkins? Or checking that I don’t crawl into a cupboard back here?”

Oh, but how good it feels to be able to joke about it.

But Remus smiles and nods. “The thought did cross my mind,” he says, only half-joking, Sirius suspects. “And I felt for a little break from the party riots out there.”

Sirius can empathise with that. “It’s because we’re getting old,” he says lightly, “we can no longer stomach a full evening of fun.”

“I have a hard time imagining that you’ll ever outgrow having fun, Sirius. Nor should you try to. That’s not what growing up is about.”

Sirius is aware, he really is, but nevertheless it feels good to hear Remus saying it out loud.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Remus says as he steps closer. With the two of them in here, it feels almost as cramped as the cupboard back at Peter’s party, only nicer. No sleeping feet because of his sitting position or old scarves in his face in here, and the company is, of course, the best imaginable.

“I know you feel like you’ve made a lot of your choices based on how those around you would react to them, for better and worse. And that you’re working on choosing what’s right for you, and that’s a good thing, a really good thing.” Remus’ voice wavers a bit, and Sirius feels something warm stirring in his belly. Remus might just be the most considerate person that he knows, when he’s not busy being a sassy little shit, that is, but there’s no sass to be seen now.

“I just think you should know though,” Remus says, “that there’s nothing wrong with being part of a pack, so to speak. Because I have this whole lone wolf thing going on, or I know myself well enough to know that I would’ve had it, way too much, if it weren’t for you guys including me in your group back then. And you know, loyalty to your friends is a wonderful quality, one that you possess more than perhaps anyone I know. You don’t have to lose that to make your own choices.” 

He huffs a laugh and shakes his head a bit. “Didn’t mean to be all melodramatic, it’s my fucking birthday party after all. But anyway, that’s all I wanted to say.”

The warm flutters in Sirius’ belly are rapidly growing into a little dance of excitement, because really, how was he ever lucky enough to meet someone like Remus? He steps even closer with no intentions, but once he’s here and meets Remus’ warm gaze, he finds himself swallowing and biting his lip like a shy little kid.

To be fair, though, Sirius has wanted to kiss Remus pretty much since forever, and it’s not easy to keep his cool now that it seems they both might be letting themselves do something about it. In the end it’s Remus who leans forward, and then they’re kissing, just like Sirius has imagined too many times to bother counting. It’s soft and wet and it’s as if neither one of them needs oxygen until suddenly they do, and they pull apart, red-cheeked and out of breath.

Remus stays close, not opening his eyes, and he rests his hand on Sirius’ shoulder as he whispers Sirius’ name, softly, like it’s a secret. 

Sirius knows they should go back to the others. After all, it won’t be long before James and Peter organise a search party, probably remembering all too well Sirius’ mood the last time he disappeared at someone’s birthday.

This time, though, they don’t need to worry. This time, Sirius is with Remus.

They stay for a minute longer, managing to steal one more kiss before they step back into the main room. And when they do, it’s to find James and Peter and Lily standing on the bar, cheering, urging everyone to clap as Sirius steps forward.

“Let’s hear it for Sirius Black!” James yells. “Our generous host for the evening and the best friend anyone could have!”

“Hear, hear,” the crowd says as they all toast and drink and cheer, and Remus throws him a wink that probably should’ve been sleazy but is actually terribly endearing.

Sirius blinks once, twice. His eyes are _not_ wetter than usual, thank you very much, but nevertheless he blinks again. It’s not often he’s hit by such raw feelings of being touched, but now the force of it throws him off guard. 

Later, when Lily carries out the enormous cake and Frank and Gideon trip in each other’s feet to get first in line, Sirius is the one to blow the candles for the birthday boys. Maybe some of the guests find it strange, but he doesn’t really care. He’s blown the candles and the party is still going strong. And he thinks maybe James had a point, back at Peter’s birthday. He thinks Uncle Alphard had a point. He thinks Peter and Lily and Remus all had good points – maybe things will work out, and if they don’t, who’s to say that they won’t later?

He’s got his friends. He’s got this pub. He’s got, inexplicably, Remus. And if he sometimes doesn’t know exactly what path to follow, that’s okay too. He’s got time. And right now, right here, he’s got everything that he needs.


End file.
